And forsake all others
by Miss Puppet
Summary: Charles Carson sees something that horrifies him.


**And forsake all others  
><strong>_Rated_: K+  
><em>Pairings<em>: Carson/Hughes  
>Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Julian Fellowes wrote Downton Abbey, which is produced by Carnival Films for ITV Network.<br>_Spoiler: _Contains spoilers for season 2. Read at own risk!  
><em>Summary<em>: Charles Carson sees something that horrifies him.  
><em>Genre<em>: romance

_A/N: This might be rather sentimental, but I am at a rather sentimental place right now, so you'll have to excuse me. It is also – of course – a McFluffy. _

* * *

><p>His mind was still reeling from the shock of it. Carefully making his way back to his pantry he closed the door behind him and sank down on the couch, utterly shocked and horrified by what he´d just witnessed. He was grateful it was already dark, he was grateful that most of the other servants had already gone to bed, he was grateful that he'd been the only one to see…<p>

"Good god…" he groaned, running his hands over his face. How had this happened? How long had it been going on? He closed his eyes, trying to dispel the image from his mind's eye, but he could still see it as clearly as he had but a few minutes ago. Their tight embrace, her body pressed up against his, the way his hands had possessively eased down over her back, sliding lower than ever could be considered appropriate, their lips locked together, both of them oblivious to the world around them.

He felt the bile rising in his throat, the disappointment and pain of it all almost impossible to bear. How would he ever be able to continue to work here, to carry himself with dignity and with grace, knowing what he knew now? Suddenly it all became without meaning, without honour. Without any purpose at all.

He did not know how long he'd been sitting there, wrapped up in his hurt and his miserable thoughts, but eventually he was startled out of his reverie by a knock on the door. Soft but firm. Two short knocks, a rhythm almost. Her name. He knew exactly who was on the other side of the door. And he couldn't bear to see her. Not now, not when he was so distressed. Not when he wouldn't be able to keep his composure, not when she would look straight through him.

He waited too long, hesitated too long and before he could think of the appropriate words to excuse himself, she was already peering around the door, stepping in fully when she noticed the state he was in.

"Mr Carson… Whatever is the matter with you?" Her Scottish burr was so thick his name almost sounded like a caress. She hurried over to where he was sitting, and sat down next to him on the sofa, gingerly reaching out her hand and placing it on his arm.

"Are you ill?" she asked, worry for him etched on her features.

When he looked up at her he gave her saddest, most dejected look she'd ever seen on him and it completely broke her heart. Without even knowing what was going on, she already felt the tears stinging behind her eyes. Whatever had happened, it had cut him deeply, hurt him beyond reason. He looked broken almost, as if his world had been shattered into a million pieces.

"Cannot you tell me?" she urged gently, tightening her hold on his arm just a fraction in a small, helpless attempt to offer him a semblance of comfort.

He wondered if he ought to. Was it right to shatter her world as his had been shattered moments before? But then again, she had to know. It concerned her more than anyone else.

"I was upstairs just now… checking up on the family… ensuring everything was settled for the night…" he took a deep, shuddering breath as if continuing cost him a momentous amount of strength. "I was passing his Lordship's dressing room and the door was ajar… he was… they were…" his voice faltered and then fell silent and he bowed his head, unable to form the words to finish the sentence.

"Mr Carson…" she allowed a note of firmness to slip into her voice. More out of concern for him than because she was so curious to find out what was happening in his Lordship's dressing room. She was curious, she didn't bother to deny that to herself, but it was mostly for his sake that she was pushing him to tell her. It couldn't be healthy to keep this bottled up. "Please just tell me what happened. It wasn't your wrong-doing I'm sure…"

"His Lordship was engaging in… intimate behaviour… with one of the maids…"

There was no doubt in her mind that his were probably among the hardest words he'd ever spoken in his life. And still he was being too bloody reticent. "Can you be a bit more specific, Mr Carson?" she probed carefully.

"They were kissing. His Lordship was kissing Jane." He practically spat the words at her, his face showing every bit of disgust and anger he was feeling because of it.

"Oh my god…" she stammered, taking a few deep breaths to slowly process the information. Then she turned her attention back to the man sitting next to her.  
>"Mr Carson, I realize this must be quite a blow to you…"<p>

The look he gave her could only be described as tormented.

"You have no idea…" he replied hoarsely. "Mrs Hughes, I have always prided myself on serving a man of honour and of high moral conduct… it is why I could not go to Haxby, I could not work for a man I could not respect… but now…"

She suspected that for him it was as close as losing his faith. Downton and the family were everything to him, as much as she resented it sometimes. And she could understand how much of a shock, how much of an uproot this must be for him. She didn't agree with it, but that was a different matter altogether. She could understand it.

"If I cannot respect the man I'm working for. If there is no honour or dignity in what I do then this…" he indicated his surroundings and the livery he was wearing, "… is all useless. Then I am…"

"Don't say it!" If she wanted to, she could be just as insistent, just as stubbornly convinced as he was. "His Lordship made an error in judgement and a grave one at that. But it does not reflect on you."

"Of course it does…"he pointed out quietly, his dejected tone a sharp contrast to her passionate words. "Where is the honour in serving a man that betrays his wife, that breaks his wedding vows and compromises a woman under his roof? How can a man justify any sense of dignity in serving a man like that?"

"You are a man of honour and dignity of your own accord, Mr Carson!" The words were tumbling from her lips quicker then she could check them. "His mistake, his infidelity does not make _you_ in any way a lesser man."  
>Oh goodness… she had to stop. Before she said too much, revealed too much in her eagerness to ease his pain and worry.<p>

He gave her small, sad smile. But it was a smile nevertheless. And it was for her. She ignored the flutter in her stomach and slowly pulled her hand away from his arm, resting it nervously on her knee. She had to be careful, guarded now. She mustn't let anything slip. She had to appear calm. Supportive, but professional. Caring, but only in a friendly matter. Under no circumstance he could find out how much she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss all the pain away from his face. How she wanted to shower him with her love and devotion, her adoration even, until he only cared about was _she_ thought about him, what_ she_ felt for him.

She had managed to keep these feelings under a tight lock for eighteen years now, she could continue to do so tonight. She simply had to. The rejection would be unbearable. She would sink in his estimation, much in same way his Lordship had just fallen from his pedestal in his eyes. He would close his heart to her, no longer allowing them to be friends. Instead he would revert to a cold, professional politeness that would shatter her.

"What should we do about it?" He sat back a little, his posture relaxing a bit, but she could tell from the way he rolled his shoulders that he was still harbouring a great deal of tension.

"Do you want me to dismiss Jane first thing tomorrow?" Elsie asked softly. She would hate to lose Jane. She was kind, polite and a hard worker. And she had a boy. But she would do it in a heartbeat if it would ease him.

"It might be best…" he answered hesitantly. "If her Ladyship was to find out, or one of the girls…" But she knew it wasn't the crux of the matter at the moment. Right now he had to come to terms with the fact his employer was a mere mortal, capable of erring and making wrong decisions.

"I cannot comprehend it… why would a man give up everything he has for a mere dalliance…?"

She smiled without humour. In a way his bewilderment was endearing. He'd been at Downton for so long and apparently his father had been a man of high moral standing – the idea of a man straying outside his marriage was completely foreign to him. She didn't claim to be a woman of the world, but her views on male fidelity were a little less rosy. It was what made her utter the next words.

"Perhaps it's not in a man's nature to remain faithful to only one woman for so long."

"I beg your pardon?" he had turned around with a speed surprising for a man of his age and frame and was now staring at her incredulously. "You cannot mean that."

"Well, in my experience…" she started a little unsure. The footman who had courted her and two other maids on the side as well, the master of the previous house she'd worked at who had literally chased everything in a skirt, never mind that his wife was eight months pregnant with their first child… "I suppose some men are more faithful than others, but I still believe no man is above the temptation."

"There is a great difference between temptation and actually acting on it," he replied tersely, a muscle working in his jaw.

Oh heavens, she was getting him worked up! That was the last thing she intended to do. In the most placating tone she could muster she said soothingly: "His Lordship and her Ladyship have been married for almost thirty years now… it is not _that_ unusual for him to… look another way. That's all I'm trying to point out."

"I refuse to believe that!" his posture had become rigid again and his eyes were blazing.  
>So much for calming him down.<p>

"It is entirely possible for a man to remain faithful to one woman and to do so for years – for a great many years!"

_After all, I remained faithful to you. I never looked elsewhere, not since that first morning you showed up at the service entrance and told off Thomas, a mere hall boy at the time for his insolence before you'd even taken off your coat. I never loved another but you – never felt the need for it either, no one can compare to you. _

"You don't know that…" her voice was so soft he could barely make out her words. Perhaps she hadn't intended it for him to hear, but he had heard them nevertheless.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

How had she gone from trying to comfort him to ending up in an argument? she wondered fleetingly. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, at least she could say she'd been honest to him. "You're not married, Mr Carson," she pointed out quietly, knowing she was hurting him as she spoke the words and loathing herself for it. "You can't know how you would act in a similar situation."

"I may not be married, Mrs Hughes," his voice was low and measured, in a way that told her he was barely containing his temper, "but knowing my own heart, I think I'm allowed to state that a man _can_ love a woman, and _only_ her, steadfastly for a great many years. After all, I've managed to do so."

The implications of his words slowly sank in and she stared at him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. A dull numbness was spreading through her aching heart and settling in her stomach, like a heavy stone. She wondered briefly who the woman was that he loved so much, but quickly the pain of realizing he was lost to her and the effort she had to put in appearing outwardly composed and collected took all of her concentration.

She shifted away from him a little and turned, trying to hide her face from him. As long as she didn't look at him, he wouldn't be able to tell and she would be alright. At least she could be grateful for the sparse lightening in his room – his silly, unexplainable habit of always having too few lights on. She swallowed down the strangled sob that rose up in her throat and focused on the patterns of rug in front of her.

The moment she turned away from him he knew he'd said too much. He should not have spoken those last words, they had revealed too much and made her uncomfortable. For goodness sake, she could barely stand to look at him… he should be grateful she hadn't yet bolded from the room. Desperately he tried to think of something to say that would make the situation better, that would alleviate some of the horrible awkwardness that was now settling between them. But it was hard, if not impossible to think of the proper words when the rejection was cutting through his heart.

Then she spoke again.  
>"Have you never told her how you feel?" Her voice sounded small, if such a thing was possible. But it was all she could muster at the moment. All she had to voice her concern for him at the moment. Because if this man, this wonderful, caring man had found a woman to love, he should also have his chance to be happy with her. He deserved nothing less.<p>

His answer was accompanied by a great sigh. "No, I have not."

"Perhaps you should," she told him gently. "There is no shame in loving someone, Mr Carson. Especially not in this manner…" her voice cracked at the last word, the tears she so desperately tried to hold back slipping into her voice. She had to leave before she made a spectacular fool out of herself.  
>There was no shame in loving someone – but it hurt beyond comparison.<p>

He knew her too long and too well not to pick up immediately that something was amiss. He studied her profile, illuminated by the soft yellow light of the table-lamp next to her. Her hand were folded tightly in her lap, her back was perfectly straight, she sat perfectly still with her eyes downcast. Then he noticed it. She was biting her bottom lip so fervently it was turning white at the place her teeth dug in the sensitive skin.

"Mrs Hughes…"

She looked back at him, smiling brightly, her bottom lip slowly turning deep. He caught her eyes. They were bright and shining. But after a second he realised they were brimming with unshed tears.

"Whoever she is, any woman should count herself lucky to…" she just couldn't get the words out, they caught in her chest, got stuck in her throat and refused to leave her lips.

It occurred to him that she had absolutely no clue who this woman was. She had no idea it was her who'd captured his heart eighteen years ago and held it ever since. She really didn't know? Sometimes he felt he was the most obvious, blundering fool in all of Britain. Surely she must have noticed how his eyes were always first and immediately drawn to her whenever he entered a room? Must have realised that all those times he'd brushed his arms against hers, or bumped her knee underneath the servant's table hadn't been by accident at all but that the temptation simply became too great for him to withstand it ?

"Elsie…"

Later that night, alone in his bed, he would relive this moment countless times, the moment he had ruined the most wonderful friendship of his life and had scared her away, but for now he simply had to say something, even if it was only her name.

She was staring at him, much the same way as she had done earlier, her eyes wide and her mind slowly trying to process what he was implying.

"_Me?"_ It was nothing more than a disbelieving whisper.

He longed to reach out and touch her face or stroke her hair. Or even only hold her hand. But his fear that he was already overstepping the mark grossly and causing her enough discomfort in the first place held him back. Instead he offered her a look, the quiet longing mixing with infinite sadness.

"Who else would I love but you?"

_Oh good heavens…_ The tears she'd been trying so hard to fight back spilled over the moment his words filtered through her mind. She rubbed her face with the back of her hand, knowing she must be smiling and beaming like a lovesick schoolgirl, but far too happy to care at the moment.

He was still looking as if he'd just confessed to a great sin and she shifted a bit closer towards him, trying to hold herself back from hurling herself in his arms and kiss him senseless – as she had wanted to do all along.

"Charles…"

He could never have predicted, never have anticipated how much his name coming from her lips would affect him. Fifteen years ago his mother had died and it had been the last time anyone had ever called him by his given name. Hearing her use it unlocked the flood of emotions and feelings that he'd kept hidden all those years, believed to have perished after all that time. Nothing could be as intimate, as profoundly feeling as having her say his name in that loving tone of voice.

Well, or so he thought until she kissed him. The moment she pressed her lips to his, having to lean into him to be able to do so, her hands hesitantly on his chest, he knew what he had been missing, had denied himself and her all these years.

When they pulled back – breathlessly, much later she had somehow managed to snuggle her way into his arms and he tightened his hold on her as he sat back, effectively pulling her in his lap.

"Have you really loved me for that long?" she asked him, her head safely tucked beneath his chin.

"I have, Elsie," He would never tire of being able to use her name freely.

She smiled and curled up closer, delighting in the feel of his voice rumbling through his chest. Charles Carson couldn't whisper if his life depended on it.

"You see now how I can say with total confidence that a man can love a woman unfalteringly for a very long time, can't you?"

She looked up again and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his very serious expression.

"I can," she answered quietly, stroking his cheek.

"Of course, this is very easy to accomplish when that woman is you," he told her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, you impossible flirt," she admonished happily.

His lips were slowly trailing a path from her forehead, over her nose to her lips.

"I love you, Charles," she managed, just before they reached their destination.

_Love is not love  
>which alters when it alteration finds,<br>Or bends with the remover to remove.  
>Oh no, it is an ever fixed mark.<br>That looks on tempests and is never shaken.  
><em>**William Shakespeare ~ Sonnet 116**

* * *

><p><strong>I´d love to hear what you think! <strong>


End file.
